California dreaming
by kisvakondok
Summary: She takes a trip from her predictable, jaded, picture-perfect life to the edge of nowhere. She doesn't care. And it doesn't really matter. Does love conquer everything? Warning: Sex, Drugs and Rock'n'Roll.
1. boarding

**Okay, guys, this is not my big story, just something that was too big to be a one shot and wanted to be written too badly to be ignored. Please don't read it if you are offended by strong language. This is very, very bleak and dark. Not a happy place. Much grimmer than Coup de Grace, so you might want to tread with caution. It is disillusioning and sad, but I like it. You really shouldn't read if you're easily offended. There will be minors taking drugs. Adults too. There will be a lot of drugs. That is what enables California dreaming, after all.**

**If grammatical mistakes bother you, I should warn you that I didn't have a beta for this. I will have for the other one, but not this, because this is just a fling, a one night stand if you will. I did try to proofread it several times, but there are bound to be mistakes.**

**I will update regularly, but very little, every few days.**

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I get out of the cab and I look at my reflection in the car door. I'm wearing huge shades, my exhaustion doesn't show. Good. My hair is mess, but the good kind, I decide. I still cannot bring myself to feel anything but resentment and bitterness about this whole ordeal. The cabbie goes and gets the suitcase out.

"Have a nice flight, ma'am," I just scowl at him. Fucking imbecile, just how hard is it to find your way from Milwaukee to O'Hare? It's beyond his capabilities but the least he could do is buy a fucking GPS. I drag my carry on bag after me my mind still murky from lack of sleep. We just finished renovating the house in Milwaukee; this would've been our first weekend there. It was Royce's uncle's before. He was the kind of guy who thought fucking everything that moves is a form of limiting yourself. He tried to bag me a few times, but there was something gag inducing about him standing close to me, so nothing became of it. He liked the 'loft and scotch more than any woman he ever slept with so it was anybody's guess when he would finally go west. He always did love Royce and one family weekend I caught him standing outside the window of my bathroom, so I think he liked me okay too.

Nobody was surprised when he was found in thigh highs, his dick in his hand, hanging from a tie around his neck on the doorknob in his wardrobe after he's been missing from work for a week. The official report quoted heart failure, of course. He left Royce the mansion in Milwaukee, but there was some serious work to be done to transform it from pussy den to a decent place for the weekends. I don't know that much about STDs but I had the pool drained and sanitized and all the systems replaced. You never know.

And I am, by far, in the sane brunch of the family.

I strut up to the check in counter. Carlisle had better arranged this properly or I'm going back to bed.

"A ticket to Beijing for Mrs. Rosalie King," I say.

"There you go, Miss." I snatch it away. First glass. Good. That fucker had better pay up, it's the least he could do, after getting me out of bed on a Sunday morning. "Do you wish to check in now?" I just nod and put my Luis Vuitton suitcase up. The guy checks me in and I just go to the security-check just to get over that nightmare as soon as possible. Who the fuck is going to blow up a plane using their shoes? These people have clearly gone overboard or just wanted to fuck with us. I think it's the latter. But I don't want to argue with them, not today. I'm too tired.

I arrive in the waiting lobby and I'm kind of tempted to smoke, but since all smokers are cramped up in a glass cage, like some kind of cross between Hannibal Lechter and an exotic animal exhibit, suffocating in their own smoke swirling around them like they're on death row, I decide I'd rather not. I hear you can smoke as much as you want in Beijing, no one is gonna say shit. It's not like it matters anymore. I can smoke as much as I fucking like. I still feel that pang, that little hollow sadness when I think about this, though I really don't want to. I go to Starbucks instead and get myself a chai latte with soymilk. Although I could drink as much normal milk as I like now, too. Or eat seafood.

I decide to call Royce one last time. To tell him not to fuck up the house, the producer will be coming on Wednesday to take a look at it. It's not like I have to worry about getting cast, I'm the only safe bet in the bunch and they know it too. I must go to Beijing to keep it that way. The phone rings for several minutes before some bimbo picks it up.

"Hey, Royce is still sleeping, can I take a message?" she asks in a sex kitten voice. I cannot believe that an hour after I left he would already call her whore in. I could leave a message if she only let if go to voicemail. I always knew he had a soft spot for girls with double digit IQs, but then again, if she is stupid enough to pick the phone up for "The Wife", she is clearly beyond hope.

"Tell Royce his wife just called. Do not fuck on any table surface or in the pool, do you understand? If I find the house in anything but the prefect condition I left it in, you'll be sorry, sweetheart. Keep it wrapped. And next time someone calls; don't answer his phone like a desperate ten dollar hooker. It makes both of you look bad." I hear a shocked gasp on the end of the line. I guess she didn't expect it to be me, much less my reaction. But I'm not going to explain myself to _her_. I don't need to.

"I… I didn't even know he had a… I'm sorry, I…" Hmm, maybe she's not really a whore. But the house looks too good to be a bachelor pad, she couldn't possibly have believed he was single. "I'll tell him you called," she says, resigned.

"Good. And keep in mind what I said. Do not fuck in the pool." I think she got the message. _Don't fuck in the pool_. I should've told her to leave the fruit bowls untouched too. Well, I guess I can always amend that pretty quickly. I buy a Vanity Fair and sit down in the VIP waiting area to read it. There is some story in there about some fucked up rich kids raiding celebrities' houses in LA. And people are surprised. Everywhere you look there's a celebrity, you cannot turn on the TV or buy a fucking magazine without running into a self proclaimed starlet trying to sell you something or wanting to convince you how butchering their body and risking brain damage for bigger tits is a spiritual decision that they just had to make. Hell, Michel Jackson's death was announced on the weather channel. Celebrity's the new deity, the altar is fame and it's even more smokes and mirrors than the gods before. I should know. I was born and raised in Tinseltown.

I look for something about Edward Cullen and VF does not disappoint. It's a column on a Late Night Talk show he did a couple weeks back. The columnist seems to have the impression that he is deep and insightful. I just snort. He does live in an entirely different dimension that is for sure.

I've known him for a long time, but I never wanted him in my life. I liked musicians and being a hot, blond, aerobic junkie in her late teens, early twenties made it easy to get hooked up with a few and they loved me. I was almost famous. I listened to their music too, and I've always known he was good. Not just the music, he could entice, charm, excite, fascinate a crowd unlike anyone else out there at the time; I've only ever seen the big ones handling the crowd with the same grace. He was magnetic, hypnotic even. But you don't want to get involved with those ones. They're going places where nothing's normal or predictable anymore. People expect them to live a life of extreme. The life of a god.

I was always strong, I liked to play around with these local rock gods, who were trying to make it big, but I knew where I was headed. I wanted to go to law school in North Western, and work always came before play, even if I was dying to make it seem like the opposite. Daughter of a quasi-alcoholic LAPD employee, who wants to make it big in LA. What a cliché. I wasn't going to become that. I was that mythological creature, pole dancing for college money. I wasn't ashamed of it, but guys I rarely wanted to discuss NAFTA while getting a lap dance, so I shut my mouth and never told anyone.

Only Bella knew.

My sweet, angelic sister. She was four years younger than me, and so out of place in LA, it wasn't even funny. She was pale, skinny, naïve to a fault and a brunette. Bella was a studious little mouse, who pretended to be sick the nights her friends went out, and told guys her dad wouldn't allow her to date. Which was bullshit, Charlie didn't give a shit. It's ironic that I would become the dutiful housewife and that same mousy, insignificant girl would become the Jedi of famewhores, one of the most prominent celebrities who had nothing to show for their fame, except the shit about them in the tabloids.

They are calling for the passengers of my plane, boarding has begun. I collect my bag, adjust my sunglasses and board the plane. Thank god, I didn't forget the Valium. I'll need to catch some sleep.

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**Tell me what you think, please. Since this is a fling, if there is no interest, I'm not sure I'll continue. But thanks for reading, in any case.**


	2. flying

**SM owns these characters. I think it's about time I told you this. I hope this doesn't disappoint you. BTW real vampires live in LA and feast on the flesh of the young and beautiful. I thought you should know that too.**

**Not too much reviews, but it's okay, I guess. This is probably better left unread by most people out there. I'm glad there a few of you who can handle it. Again, same stuff applies. Unbetaed, so there are bound to be mistakes. I'm only human, and I don't get paid for it. If you don't like it, you are free to find another story. But if you like it I'd love for you to stay. And review. At this point, I really don't feel like lot of people are interested which is good. If I get bored, I can stop posting whenever I want.**

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I'm sitting next to a middle aged woman with a nose job gone south. I wonder what business she has in Beijing, maybe that's where she had her nose done. You really shouldn't try to spare when it comes to these things. These are investments for life that you wear on your face. You can't half ass it. She's reading a magazine that is meant for much younger chicks, that she'd love to be, no doubt; sex tips, just general advice on slutting it up and skimpy clothes. I hope she's not planning on wearing those.

"What can I offer you, Ms?" I look up and there is a flight attendant in a blue uniform smiling down at me her fake, plastered on smile, like it is actually a pleasure for her to walk around and serve people shit to drink all day long. I just look at her for a while impassively. The muscles in her face don't move; she's still smiling like she's controlled by a remote. I just sigh.

"A bloody mary," I say. I'll need something mind altering if I'm to endure this trip sane. Meeting rock stars and dealing with all their shit always wears me down and makes me fucking melancholic. It makes me feel more human, but not in a good way. Like when I see them doing shit that is abnormal and bizarre, shit that makes my guts twist, and my stomach churn, I feel disgusted, I feel horrified. I feel alive. Fallible and miserable. Human.

The bloody mary is all watery tomato juice, hardly any vodka. I should've asked for vodka strait up. No matter the class, it seems 7000 feet above ground it becomes impossible to mix a cocktail. I see that the woman next to me is looking at some pictures of Bella in that teen magazine. Ever since that dyke, Alice Brandon latched onto her she's suddenly a style icon too. She's wearing tight dresses and heels to events, and these weirdly matched stuff otherwise. It's inventive.

And shades. Always shades, big ones. The airport is Bella's own little runway nowadays.

I deliberate between taking a Valium and a Dalmane. Dalmane is tempting; it mellows me out and makes me feel the kind of happiness I haven't felt since I was a child. It's sad that this is the only way I'll ever experience those feelings anymore. But the effect lasts too long, I just settle for the Valium, I don't want to be incoherent when I get there.

I swallow it down with the dreadful bloody mary.

It's funny, about the clothes and Bella. I remember my friends telling me about their sisters stealing their clothes. I never had that problem with Bella. She'd sooner wear Charlie's flannels than my miniskirts or tube tops.

I was her birthday and I promised her we would celebrate together but Edward's band was playing at the Bosco that night and I really wanted to go. She couldn't pretend she was sick, I've seen her pull that stunt on her friends too many times before. Plus I really didn't want to leave her at home all alone on her sweet sixteen, Charlie having been gone god knows where, so I told her she had to come.

She wanted to come wearing flannels and tennis shoes. They knew me there and I knew they'd let her in with me, but not if she dressed like she should be sitting on the sidewalk waiting for someone to drop a quarter in her Styrofoam cup. I did her make up and dressed her up. She looked much older after that. I tried to keep it subtle but you could tell just by the way she carried herself that she wasn't a predator who regularly came out to play. She looked like the prey. She looked like she was playing dress up.

I guess she was.

I get Marty to come and pick us up, I don't want to take my piece of shit Honda, I want to get plastered tonight. Marty slips me some pill with a butterfly on it, and tells me to keep it under my tongue. I break it in half and give the smaller half to Bella. She needs some help loosening up; she's shy, and so sheltered by her own insecurities, plus she needs to mellow out tonight. I decided that we need to have fun. She looks so obscene with all that black eye shadow and pink lipgloss. So un-Bella. But still so un-LA. Still pale, still a brunette.

The colors swirl and it makes me happy. Everything just makes me so blissful and the colors are so nice and shiny and new. They are like I've never seen them before, they just amaze me. I could watch those neon lights forever. I don't ever want this night to end. I feel like we are on a merry-go-round.

We are walking into Bosco, my arm thrown over Bella. We're laughing; I don't really remember what it is we are laughing about. Maybe something Marty said, he can be funny sometimes, especially at night. Quil knows me and Marty, Bella just slides in with us without any questions. She looks so vulnerable and awkward with so much of her legs showing, I just want to hug her and hold on to her like she's my doll. I love her so much right now. The place is packed and there is Sophie and Annie and Melody and even Destiny's here tonight. We dance around a little with the girls and the guys bring us drinks and I flirt with them and I feel fucking wonderful. Bella is next to me all the time, but she is kind of dazed, looking at the lights with a certain fascination on her face. She looks so angelic and pretty. I lean to her and kiss her cheek and hug her to me tightly. I tell her I love her for the first time in ten years.

It's eleven and the band is starting to set up. Jacob comes over and pulls me to him roughly. I lean back my head on his shoulder and we kiss. Bella is looking at us with that strange interest on her face. I just wink at her. I can see Jacob looking at Bella up and down, but I just swat him a little.

"She's my baby sister. Leave her alone, asshat. She's way too nice for you."

"Nothing like you then," he says, latching onto my neck with his mouth. It feels fantastic, sensations are so fresh and exhilarating. I arch into him. I think I'll ask Marty what that butterfly pill was. If I can remember tomorrow.

Jasper's setting his stuff up. He's the only one from the band I haven't fucked. That's about to change tonight, hopefully. Just something quick, he can't take me home. I saunter over to him and we flirt. He leans into me and even twirls my hair a little with his fingers. Bella's standing next to me uneasily while we talk and touch. I'm feeling him and enjoy his attention immensely.

You can feel the atmosphere of the room shift when Edward enters. It's more tense, the buzz is louder and it's more alive. I look for him and he's in the crowd; Destiny's posing with him for pictures. He just smiles and hugs her tight. There are all these other vultures hanging around him, basking in his light. He takes it in stride, he knows he's above them. He's so fucking hot I might just leave Jasper and do him again tonight. I look for Bella to see if she's still okay but she's transfixed, immobile next to me. She's looking at Edward like he's cast a spell on her. I go to touch her but she's still unresponsive, like the outside world really ceased to exist. It's kind of fun. It's about time she had a little crush, I was starting to wonder if she was asexual. Edward looks towards us and the smile falls from his face. He's breaking through the crowd, coming towards the stage, pushing people by, his eyes never leaving us. I wonder what happened.

He stops in front of Bella, looking down at her. She's looking up at him with a shocked expression on her face, eyes open wide. It's kind of weird to watch. Bella's never really affected by guys. Edward keeps looking at her than says:

"I never saw true beauty till this night." Wherever that shit came from, it gets a reaction out of Bella. She gets all red in the face like some weird fucked up harlequin heroine. I don't know where she got it from, but she blushes like crazy. She looks down at her feet, mumbles something incoherent then looks up at him again. That's the moment Destiny chooses to pounce on Edward and kiss him. It seems we weren't the only ones watching. It's so weird and funny, I just start to laugh.

There are flashes from that night; the feel of Jasper's tongue on the inside of my thigh, the rush of sensations in my head when I snorted that line, the feeling of my heart beating in tandem with the beat of that song. The touches all feel good, and I feel like everybody loves me tonight and I feel like they should.

The only memory I have of Bella after that is of her standing in front of the stage, looking up at him with that same weird, freaky look on her face. Like nothing else matters. It scares me. I think it might be that butterfly pill. I shouldn't have given it to her. Or shouldn't have let her mix it up with booze. I wonder if she'd had anything else. I don't think she did.

In any case, it's too late now.

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**Obviously you should keep away from butterfly pills. You can from an addiction. (kinda like with Twilight) **

**If you liked it leave me a smiley face ;)**


	3. landing

**Happy to welcome new readers and the old ones too. Your reviews make me happy. Sorry, but FF net was a bitch with loading this one up. Hopefully I managed.**

**So this is going on, bleak as ever. SM owns, I make no money, and I'm no established author of fanfic who educates others on how to write realistic smut ;) I don't think I could write smut, but maybe I'll try one day. IDK, we'll see I guess.**

**Same stuff applies, if you think alcohol is Satan's urine and drugs are the demise of the modern world you are right. But you should stop reading this. Thanks.**

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There's a sudden jolt, unexpected and startling that makes me feel like I fell from the sky at a high speed. It jerks me awake. I think it was the plane landing. I recline back in my seat. Someone has put it down, it seems. Was it me?

Having all these fucked up dreams about me and Bella and Bosco and Edward. I'm now grateful for all the pills I've taken back in those days; it makes the line between reality and other things comfortably blurry. But I think that was real. I guess it was. The remote controlled flight attendant smiles that same smile and welcomes us in Beijing. Smiling like she is just won the lottery while electrocuted.

It's Monday morning here, at least according to her. It's like a whole day has passed and I don't know if it should be dark or not. I think it would be dark in Chicago. The Valium makes that half a day spent on the plane seem like a few hours. Just what my fucked up sleep pattern needed, to cross the International Date Line into another day. I have no idea how I'll get myself together for Wednesday. Maybe we can have the screenshots later. I'll ask Carlisle about it. I don't have to wait for my bag at the conveyor belt at least. Carlisle said he would take care of that.

I walk out and there's a guy in a uniform waiting for me; a paper in his hand with my name written on it and a huge, balding lump of fat is standing next to him with a camera in his hand.

"Mrs. King," says the short guy in the uniform, swallowing, bowing his head to me. After that he doesn't make eye contact.

"Mrs. King, if you cold walk out again, I'd like to take some pictures," the fat guy says. He smells like deodorant covered up sweat. He triggers my gag reflex.

"Fucking pig," I mumble, not giving a shit if he can hear me. "I'll need to find a bathroom and adjust my make up if we're having pictures taken." It takes for fucking ever to find one. My hair is a mess but I get it under control somewhat. I won't take off the shades.

I walk out into the arrivals area or at least pretend to a few times. I try to make my expression concerned. I guess the shades come in handy.

Finally I can get go out with the little guy to go to the hotel. My ride is a Hummer limousine. Thank god they didn't take pictures of this shit. I'd end up looking like some hillbilly going to their prom. I smoke three cigarettes in succession before I sit in. The short guy is just standing next to my open car door, looking at the ground every time I look his way.

The city is oozing with smoke and sweat, you can't see a hundred yards ahead, it's like fucking fog, but it's just the smog. The cars are inching forward at a snail's pace in all ten lanes. After what seems like an hour we're still on the same road, with that same car ahead of us. I just get the pack out of my bag get one out and light it up. I'm bored out of my mind; everything on in the TV here is in fucking Chinese. After I've watched the commercial for pizza or taco or whatever with the same androgynous looking people in it for the fifteenth time I ask the driver for something to drink. He gestures to the minibar.

There's all kinds of booze in here and some fucked up blue soda that tastes like Nyquil. I search around a little and I find the goodie stash under the armrest too. I should've looked sooner. I open the plastic bag with the powder in it, and get it out on the little mirror I found in the stash. I don't have anything to snort it with so I ask the driver for something. He hands me some Chinese money without looking at me. I snort it up and I feel a lot better already. I don't know why this loser didn't tell me about it sooner.

I look around and people are trying to peer inside to see who's fucked up enough to risk this traffic with this bastardized military car. Yeah, I'd be curios too.

I remember my prom; we'd teamed up with like nine other people to pay for the white limo we had. We ended up more squished in than if we'd taken a bus. But at the time I felt like a fucking rock star. And I didn't even have the coke to help it along. I only did synthetics on weekends and holidays and I was very strict on that front.

When Edward and Bella started dating – although he refused to call it that, even though he would wait for her in the school parking lot almost every afternoon according to Trisha – Bella wouldn't touch the bad shit most of the time. I know she was reading all those romance novels where the heroine is sitting around in her room all untouched until the guy comes and sweeps her off her feet. I always thought it was bullshit, I mean, pretty much if you ever dated a guy or just hung out with them you knew it wasn't like that. Not anymore. Maybe it was only ever like that in vicar daughters' dreams.

She was always pestering me at night to come with her to watch him. She didn't want to be alone – she'd say. I know she had a hard time seeing all those girls with him while he was up on stage or even off it or when he went home with them. Jealousy is something she never quite learned to deal with, though it would've been really useful for her.

She was so unlike anyone on the scene, it's just… you could see she wasn't one of us. All pale and flat and brunette. And she just wasn't _happy_, like us. Maybe because she hardly even drank anything; she wasn't cool and relaxed either, she was just weird. She didn't really make any friends at Bosco, or anywhere else. Always standing around and waiting. And frankly, I didn't want to babysit her. I kind of wished she'd go back to her books and homework assignments, to her flannel shirts and tennis shoes, to cooking and cleaning every night.

She started wearing shorter and tighter clothes. She bought a few heels too. She even went to get tanned a few times but she ended up being so sunburnt she couldn't sleep at night from feeling the sheets rustling against her skin. At least that's what she'd told me when I came home one night and found her awake. I guess some things just aren't meant to be.

I don't know when she lost her virginity, but that night she asked me if it hurt. I told her it did, but that it was okay and that it was better if she was drunk. She also asked me why Edward didn't want her.

I told her I didn't know and that it shouldn't matter. I told her she should leave him alone.

That night she told me she didn't want to be a little girl anymore.

That night, for the first time, it felt like she might never have been one at all.

In hindsight, I guess Edward was trying to fight temptation. He knew where he was going, and I think he didn't want Bella hindering him. Or maybe he didn't want to drag her into that world.

I found her in a dress, sitting on his lap on the floor one afternoon, him teaching her how to play the guitar. Bella looked so focused, so dedicated, with a look of heavy concentration on her face, while Edward was behind her, showing her the chords. He looked up at me, and I couldn't help feeling like he was pleading with me for something.

I didn't know what it was.

Maybe it was nothing.

I don't know when he started dating her seriously. I think it was around the time I noticed that there were never any leftovers from her cooking in the fridge and that the bathroom was even more disgusting and filthy than usual. I started to hate that apartment even more after that.

I was tired. I did an extra shift at Red Revolver that night so it must have been around dawn. It was worth it though, the more they sat there the more wasted they became, the more they tipped, but I was bushed by then.

She jumped on my bed and hugged me close. She told me life was beautiful. Her eyes seemed so black. And she thanked me for her birthday party and wouldn't stop talking. She was hyper and talkative. So un-Bella. She whispered she was happy and that she now had everything she'd ever dreamed of.

We slept in the same bed that night and she hugged me tightly. She told me I was the best sister she could ask for.

It made me feel weird.

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**I like this Edward a lot. If you think this is worth continuing, please let me know. What else would make me feel guilty for late updates?**

**Don't take drugs, they are bad for you. Unless your doctors are dealing them. Because then it's okay.**


	4. bar

**Okay, here it is, unbetaed as ever, please forgive me for the typos. SM owns and I make no money. I just let her characters pop a few pills and see what happens. Thank you to every reader who reviewed, longwhitenightes, IAmToWait, Surin and NaughtyAnneNice... You make this worthwile. Plese keep the love flowin'.**

**To the new ones, welcome, and hope you'll drop me a line.**

**On we go. This won't be pretty. If you are easily offended, maybe you should look for something else.**

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The car finally pulls into a street and slows down. We are downtown now and it's swarming with people. All of them looking even more identical than those people on the streets of Chicago or LA. All the signs, billboards, everything you can see are in Chinese. On the highway signs had letters too. The deeper we're in the more lost I feel. I understand nothing.

We have to break through a barricade of bodies at the hotel. They keep hitting my window, hollering, snapping pictures, putting their hands against the glass, trying to peer inside to see if I'm them. Some are crying, some are shouting that they love him. This always makes me feel more outer planet than any of those billboards ever will.

As we finally come to a stop. I still sit inside the car, motionless. I wait for the little man to come and open my door. His head is still bowed down, his shoulders hunched. I'm at least a head above him as I get out and straighten up.

"Bring my bag up. And tell Carlisle that I went to have a drink at the bar. He'll have to send me my room keys there."

"Yes, Mrs. King. Thank you, Mrs. King."

I walk in, and now I wish I wasn't wearing heels. It's not like I had to walk a lot in them, but still... Maybe they are not for intercontinental traveling. Thankfully the lobby is empty. Seems like you have to be a guest to be let in. Good. I don't know what I would do of I had to endure even more screaming in here. My head is already pounding and pulsing as it is. Maybe I should take that Dalmane.

I sit up on one of the red barstools in the bar. I don't want to sit at a table. I just want a decent bloody mary. The waitress is a bubbly blond. She smiles at me and nods her head to much and almost touches me as I order.

"A bloody mary. I really love those. You know, it's just, it's so boring and we don't get a lot of people in; since Gore Mountain's here they don't let anyone in. You know they're here, right? We were supposed to keep it hush-hush, but… well, somehow it came out, you know." At least she's mixing my drink now. And I can see that she is not holding the vodka back. "I haven't really met _him_ but I saw Jacob Black once. They don't even want housekeeping anymore, which is like… why? They have, like, two floors to themselves, you know. I think it was Jacob Black I saw, but he was wearing his shades. He was with two redheads. And his blond manager. God, that is one hot piece of ass."

"Would you just hand me my drink?" I ask.

Pause.

"Sorry, Ms. Here you go." I take it from her and send it down all at once. I also ask for a bottle of Evian. I just realized I'm parched. I really don't want to go up there. I hope some emergency happens so I don't have to.

Then I remember some emergency did happen. That's why I'm here.

I can still remember the first time. The fridge started to get leftovers in it again, an excessive amount, in fact. Bella never asked me to go out with her anymore. The door of her room was always closed, but I wasn't sure if she was in or out. It was always so quiet.

Around that time Edward and Jake and the rest of them came to Red Revolver to celebrate their signing. They were in the VIP area, all of them stoned and blown out of their mind, having at least three girls grinding up on all of them and other things. They weren't stringy about the rules in the VIP lounge.

It was the night he'd been waiting for in all his life, but he looked unaffected, apathetic even. He came to me, his eyes all pupils, almost none of that green he was so famous for. He asked me how Bella was. I told him that he should know; he was the one always hanging out with her. He told me he wasn't, not any more. He told me to take care of her, and then went back to his band mates.

I was working a lot; I knew that for September I could afford the tuition. Marty said he could also hook me up with a guy called Timmy who had his own strip club in Chicago. I wasn't sure I'd take him on. I felt like it was better to leave the stripping to LA. I always had this ridiculos idea of starting anew.

I came home at around five that night. I was exhausted but I couldn't sleep. It was nothing new. I searched around my nightstand drawer for the Valium, but I couldn't find it. I even checked the bathroom. Then I thought maybe Bella borrowed some, even though I'm not sure she never did before.

I found her in her room, which was unusually clean and organized, lying on her bed with the orange plastic cylinder still clutched in her hands. Most of the pills were gone. I called 911 and stayed with her all the way to the hospital in that dingy ambulance. I felt like I didn't need those pills to sleep anymore.

I waited in that disease smelling waiting room, with all those barely human zombies, filing out papers, feeling that exhaustion weigh down on me like a ton of bricks, making everything around me slow and insignificant. They told me her bill would have to be paid; our insurance didn't cover for this.

I wasn't sure taking Bella out on her birthday was a good idea.

I was told she was saved but barely. They pumped her stomach and hooked her on an IV. The Valium was Charlie's, so at least we didn't face criminal charges. But that bill would have to be paid by someone. And it would probably have to be me.

They told me I could enter her room.

Her face was turned away from me and she was even paler than I remembered. I sat down next to her, but I didn't say anything. I just sat there, next to her. Waiting. Wanting to sleep.

Bella just told me, with her face still turned away, that she was sorry. She told me she wouldn't let this stop me from going to college. For the first time, I wanted to laugh. There's not a whole lot she could do about that anymore.

I just sat there, in the cold room, and she didn't look at me for the whole morning. They'd discharge her the following day according to the nurse who came in.

I went home, and took a leftover pill from Bella's sheets and went to sleep in her room.

About a week after that I was hanging out in Bosco with Marty and Destiny. I wasn't sure if it was worth busting my ass in Red Revolver anymore. I felt even shittier than usual. Destiny was tired and smacked out of her mind; she was speaking about vampires. About how they were all over the city and how they killed Melody. Melody cut her wrists in that producer's bathtub. There were no vampires involved. But with her slurred speech and slow gestures and black eyes she insisted. She told us she knew it was them. She told me with huge eyes that they're after her. I think she really believed it.

That was the fist night I saw Bella with Jacob. They entered the club with his hand thrown over her shoulder. He held onto her for the whole night, some body part always touching her; his lips on her shoulder as he was standing behind her or his hands on her hips. He waved at me then smirked. Bella held onto him too, but not like she held onto Edward. That was desperate and scary.

With Jacob it looked like she finally found her teddy bear in the dark after a nightmare. Kind of cute.

But it was still Jake. I wasn't sure it was a good idea.

I think it was around that time she gave me back the money I paid at the hospital for her bill. I found it on my nightstand, all of it. From then on, there were never any leftovers in the fridge. The door of her room was always open, just in case. She was never in there. Not even when I came home from Red Revolver.

I wondered what happened to her. Trisha told me she hardly ever saw her at school anymore. And that Edward was seen with a black eye on Melrose buying a guitar. She asked if I knew how it happened. I could only guess.

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**Obviously, don't try this at home. **

**Please tell me what you think. I just feel so awkward writing this without feelback. Thank you so much.**


	5. 6108

**Hi everyone! I'm glad for all the new readers and the old ones too. This will be bleak as ever but hopefully more and more things will be revealed. You can always ask if something is too confusing. Also, SM owns, I make no money what. So. Ever.**

**If you hate drugs and the like, and abhor reading stories which depict the use of them, this is not the story for you. Find something else. Like Alton house from velvetglo. Which is great BTW.**

**On we go.**

* * *

A short girl walks in with an impassive expression and a confident strut. She's holding her head high and all the other people seem be gravitating out of her way. She comes toward me and when she sees me she slightly changes her direction and smiles widely. So wide, it's almost a grin. She walks up to me and puts an envelope down on the bar, all the while smiling at me.

"Good morning, Mrs. King. How do you like Beijing so far?" I just lift my glass to my mouth and drink up the remnants of my second bloody mary. I signal the bartender for another one.

"It's marvelous, the most incredible place I've ever been." I sound bored. I don't even try to make it sound sincere. She's just standing there, smiling at me, her expression unchanged.

"Carlisle has asked me to hand these over to you." She gestures with her clipped nails to the envelope. "He also would like you to come and meet him as soon as possible. Your room is on a different floor than the one the band is currently occupying but it's just the floor bellow that. The cards for it are inside the envelope. To access the floors where the band is residing, you'll need a key for the elevator. That's inside the envelope too." She is looking at me impassively but keeps staring. Waiting for something, I guess.

"Is that all?"

"Yes." There's a pause. "Have a good day, Mrs. King," She says, then she turns around and struts away.

I'm on my third bloody mary, but I'm not sure it's such a good idea anymore to finish it. My mind is already starting to get murky and things around me slow down, it's just harder to make sense of things. I sigh, and heave my self of the barstool. I don't want to do this, but I don't think I have a choice. I get my bag. I walk up to the elevator and get in. I get the card out of the envelope showing my room number. I walk down the sweet detergent smelling corridor on the plush carpet toward my room. 6108.

I pause in front of the door.

I don't know why. It just seems like I've been here before, like these things have happened to me, like this is not the first time I'm standing in front of this door, on this corridor. I'm not sure if it's me or the door that has changed since then. Maybe we changed together. Maybe it was all rewound and how it's happening again, but my brain hasn't been erased of this moment properly. I grasp at the fathom of the memory, but it's like a soap in the shower; the more tightly I grasp, the further away it slips. I'm not even sure it was there anymore.

I get the card out and slip it in the slot. It takes several tries to get it right, but finally I manage. I find a huge basket on my table; inside bottles of scotch, vermouth, vodka, a few balls of coke and packets of cigarettes. Carlisle, still courteously considerate and an unapologetic realist at the same time. I almost smile. He claims to hate Edward, but I don't think he could fill the void in his life if he suddenly didn't have to take care of him.

He shouldn't have bothered with the booze, room service is always happy to supply that. I decide to call him, to let him know I'm here. I sit down at the table and get one of the cigarettes out of the package. I pull the phone toward me and pick it up. I tell them to connect me to Carlisle. While I wait, I light up, and savor every breath of tar and nicotine filled filthy air.

"Please hold on, Carlisle is on his Blackberry at the moment, how can I help you?" Says a breathless voice.

"Tell him it's Rosalie King calling." He knows I don't like to wait. There's silence on the other line for a few seconds.

"I'm sure that if you have some complaint or problems we can resolve it. We have really excellent lawyers and it would further complicate the problem at home that we are under a totalitarian jurisdiction…"

"Just shut the fuck up and give the phone to Carlisle. I'm not a groupie, idiot." The line gets quiet; all I hear are murmurs.

"Yes," Carlisle finally answers vacantly.

"Carlisle. I'm here." He sighs.

"Thank god." Pause. "I think you might have to speak to Edward too."

"I didn't come here for that," I say, inhaling.

"I know. But I would consider it a great favor, Rosalie. Did the photographer catch you on the airport?" Speaking of favors.

"Subtle, Carlisle." I take another drag and inhale it deeply. "Real subtle."

"I don't give a bloody fuck about subtlety. I could always just send her an eightball to the hospital. I'm sure that would be a sufficient distraction. You're not a charity, you know why you came." His English accent always gets stronger when he's pissed. It's fucking sexy.

"You'll have to send the eightball regardless. And you know it's not a sufficient distraction. Thanks for mine, by the way. But you know I don't use anymore."

"Consider it a procedural misconduct on my part. It's the standard package, everybody gets that. I'm sure you can find something to your liking in there."

"I already did." I keep smoking and I finish the cigarette before he speaks again.

"You should come up as soon as you can. Just call me before you do."

"Will do. Your assistant is a clueless piece of shit, by the way."

"Yeah, we ran into some… complications with Steve number 21." Pause. "She's new."

"Well, I suggest you fire new female Steve 22."

Carlisle mumbles something under his breath. "I'll have to settle for her for this part of the tour. There aren't a whole lot of options out there right now."

"Okay, I'll take a bath and get settled in. I'll call you when I'm ready."

"Fine. Try to make it snappy."

"Fuck off, Carlisle." I hang up.

I finish another cigarette. I hate how I smell now. I walk into the bathroom and run the bath. I even put that bubble bath they have in here into it. It smells all fruity and flowery. So alien and foreign. These scents seem remnants of an ancient world where we've smelt real flowers only in spring, not every day, like we do now, in those in tubes and jars, or grown in a greenhouse somewhere on another continent, thousands of miles away. What this really is is chemicals that have nothing to do with anything but chemicals. Even these lie to be something else. It's funny how our bubble baths would represent us so accurately.

I undress and get in the bath. It relaxes me.

I'll need to speak to Carlisle about postponing the screenshots. I don't like asking for favors, but I think I need this. And he needs me for Bella right now.

He always did hate her. Until she appeared the only source of animosity in the band was the order of the songs or which venue to play at. After she started dating Jake it became really tense, I imagine. I don't know what happened; I only knew Bella was hanging out with Jake because I've heard from Trisha and Marty. I went away in August to set up my apartment with my roommate. I had enough money, maybe more than enough. I didn't want to strip anymore.

Bella cried that day on the airport, hanging onto me so tight, like I was shipping off to 'nam or something. She looked so afraid. And even skinnier than usual. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just that tight dress she was wearing. She was hugging her torso in a tight grip when she looked up at me. Like she was afraid something was going to escape from within her. I wasn't sure why she did that. "Please call me often, Rose," she pleaded. I hugged her. I also hugged Charlie who was standing around with a beer can in his hand.

I don't know why she stayed with Jake. Maybe it was the fame she craved, maybe the drugs, maybe she did like him. Maybe it was just to stay closer to Edward. That would've been really pathetic. But Bella never really cared about looking pathetic.

I tried calling her on her birthday. To no avail. I couldn't reach her. Charlie never knew where she was. We spoke maybe once a month. Marty told me she hung out with the band all the time, and that he met her at one of the afterparties of their gigs. He said he wouldn't have recognized her if she didn't say hi. He said it was the blond hair. I couldn't imagine her as a blond.

One of my classmates in my study group asked me if I knew Bella Swan. I told her she was my sister. She showed me the article in the magazine. It was about Jake. And his jailbait girlfriend. It even had a picture, Bella sitting on his lap, gazing off into space, Jake kissing her shoulder. Blond looked good on her. My classmate said the story was all over the place. She asked me what I thought of it. I told her I didn't care.

She was seventeen. I didn't have a boyfriend when I was seventeen. I only had sex. I never really felt the compulsion to be judgmental.

She looked at me strange. I caught her whispering to someone in the corridor when the group broke up.

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**Okay, please review if you think this thing it worth continuing. I always feel elated when I get one and it can change my mind when I want to abandon this.**


	6. bathroom

**Welcome old readers and new ones too. I am happy to welcome everyone, and greatful for all your encouragement (especially those who review). Thanks to jimemon for the shout-out at the gazebo, I was really flattered. You guys never cease to amaze me. Longwhitenights, you rock and thank you.  
**

**Going on. SM owns, I don't claim to have created these characters on my own, and I don't make any money off of them, but the story is mine. This is the chapter that reveals the most, yet. I know it's a bit confusing sometimes, but it always is when you look at a relationship from the outside (some would say even more so from the inside). Not everything will be explained, but a lot. I'm always grateful for those who share their toughts with me.  
**

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My fingers are pruned from the bath when I get out of the tub. There's a sort of chilly feeling on my skin, but the refreshing kind. I don't even bother with getting a towel, I just walk up to the mirror and look into it. It's getting harder to smile at myself like this. Especially when I see myself so clearly. I'm still more beautiful than most, but it's fading. I'm aging.

I have no real thing to show for. I look down on my stomach and I get this ridiculous and pathetic pain chocking my throat and burn in my eyes. I don't give in to it.

I just look up and look into my blue eyes and take a deep breath.

My tits are still pretty awesome. Still good enough to get guys to pay for seeing them. Not that it's going to ever happen again.

I remember when I came home that Christmas when Bella wanted to take a picture of them. I only came because Charlie asked me to. He was begging, actually. I'm not sure that ever happened before. In the car on the way home from the LAX Charlie told me Bella got emancipated a month ago. He said she wanted to drop out of high school and go on tour with the band. He didn't know what to do.

When we arrived she was in the kitchen in tight shorts that barely covered her asscheeks and a hoodie. In a blond blur, she jumped on me and locked me into a tight hug. I think it was the suicide shade. Her nails were not short and bitten anymore; they were manicured and painted black. She made steak and mashed potatoes for dinner, from scratch. We sat down for dinner. She didn't eat, but she was talking non-stop and said we had to go out tomorrow night and that she was organizing a surprise birthday party for Jake at Hard Rock in on Thursday.

That night she slept in my room and showed me her new tattoo on her wrist. It was a picture of a bird in flight. A blue one. I wondered what Charlie thought of it. She said Jake wanted her to have one with his name on her other wrist or over her heart. She said she wasn't sure about that.

She told me she was scheduled for getting implants and that she wanted to take pictures of my tits as a sample to the surgeon. She said she always wanted them to be like mine and that it was the closest to her genetically. I couldn't contest that. She got out a brand new digital camera and took pictures of my boobs, without my head in the picture. She showed me the camera and all the pictures she had on it. It was the first digital camera I'd ever seen. When I got sleepy she got out some meds out of her bag. She told me she had a hard time sleeping. I asked who the pills were from. It was from Marty.

We went out a few times. Being an official girlfriend is like a title, it's like being royalty amongst groupies and bottom feeders or the band. I would know. Everyone knew Bella, and they all came and talked to her. It felt different with her. She wasn't just little Swan anymore. She went to the bathroom a few times with them and laughed and smiled the whole night. She was always taking, but she held onto my hand under the table so tight it hurt.

That night at the Hard Rock we arrived early to coordinate things. Bella had on some skimpy dress and heels so high she was almost as tall as me. I helped her coordinate waiters and decorators and that ice sculpture of a wolf with a guitar. We didn't really know where to put it. She also ordered a swan but its neck broke on the way. Destiny, Annie, Carlene and a bunch of other girls were there too. Carlisle popped in, gave Bella an envelope and whispered something to her. She just nodded at him, and then he left. We had the whole venue and it was shaping out to be epic.

I asked Bella about her emancipation in our private room. She said she wanted to do it anyway. She said it didn't really make a difference to anyone but her. I asked about her going on the road with Jake instead of finishing high school. I asked her why and if it was Jake who wanted her to go. I didn't really understand what she said, other than that she didn't want to be separated from the band.

We were dancing and having fun that night. Lots of old friends and new ones, even a few celebrities showed up. Jake arrived two hours late, but he was surprised and laughed. He went on stage, pulled up Bella with her and tried to sing while grabbing on Bella's ass. It was lucky for the band he that Edward was the singer.

We could just feel when Edward arrived. The buzz and the tension just changed in the room. Bella stiffened next to me then reached for her drink. She drank it all at once. We didn't know where Jake was, he disappeared about an hour ago. Bella told me she wasn't feeling well and that she was going to the private room. Her eyes kept darting towards him. She looked scared. She asked me to come with her, but I didn't want to. I was having too much fun. She went up anyway before he could've noticed her.

Edward came to our table to say hi. He looked worn out and had huge bags under his eyes. He asked me if I'd seen Bella. I told him I didn't. We talked for a few minutes and told me he was happy for me. He said all he ever wanted to do was get out of LA. I told him he already had. He was going on the road. Edward said he wasn't sure he could ever leave.

I had a few shots and danced. I snorted a few lines and I was feeling pretty perfect that night. I was in serious need of a wind down from all the studying. It seemed like a lifetime ago when I did this almost every night. That made me feel giddy. I felt like I managed to get away from this. I felt happy.

I went up to the private room looking for Bella. I hadn't seen her in a while. When I opened the door I heard the shouting. It was Edward. He was mad. He was shouting at Bella, for what she'd done and something about her blond hair. Bella didn't say a word. Edward said that every time he looked at her he wanted to vomit. He yelled he was disgusted with her and that this was not what was supposed to happen to her. In the end he just kept asking "What have I done? What have I done?" over and over again. It sounded deranged. I heard the sound of something smashing.

Bella sounded choked up and said that it wasn't him, that it was meant to be this way all along. She sounded so calm and serene, like I haven't heard her since I came back; like back before all this started. She said she was going to stick around no matter what and that she didn't care anymore. She sounded reassured and resigned. The certainty in her voice penetrated me to the bone. I decided I didn't want to listen anymore so I went down to the bathroom and snorted a line.

I danced for what seemed like hours but it may have been minutes. Jake pulled me to him and said that he missed me. He kissed me than asked if I'd seen Bella. I told him I didn't. I went out to smoke with Marty and Destiny. Destiny said she had her claws sunk into Edward and that it was going to happen any day now. I didn't understand what she meant, but with her I never really did. I wanted to go back and dance but I couldn't take the heat anymore. I went up to the private room.

Bella was there, sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by smashed glass. She had black lines running down her cheeks from her eyes. It seemed like she couldn't hear me when I entered or if she did, she never even looked my way.

I went to the sink and got myself a glass of water. I was parched. I was just standing there, leaning against the sink, drinking. Then Bella asked me what was wrong with her. I told her I didn't know. She asked me if she was ugly. I told her I didn't think so.

She said Edward told her she was one of god's mistakes. "What does that even mean?" she asked me in a raised voice. She said all she ever wanted to be was good enough. I didn't understand. She wanted me to tell her honestly if I thought she would ever be good enough. I told her I didn't know. I didn't feel comfortable with this conversation. I told her so.

She just sighed and went to get a glass of water for herself too. She sat at the table and got out a case and a black card from her clutch. She poured out the white dust and arranged it into neat but thick lines, sobbing. She rolled up a bill and then leaned over it, but before snorting she looked up at me. It was as if she was waiting for something from me with her black eyes and corpse-pale skin. I didn't know what it was. I just sat next to her and snorted a line too.

That was the first night she used coke in front of me. She never bothered to hide it after that. And she never used the pictures of my tits either. She went back to brunette before I flew back to Chicago that winter.

In hindsight, her decision to drop out of high school, though probably not a financial one, turned out to be a lucrative decision, none the less. Her net worth today is roughly ten times mine. I was never really sure if it was worth it. But then again, the way Bella and I valued things was always radically different.

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**Okay, as you know, reviews assure me that this thing should exist outside of my own head too. It looks good enough in there and I always wonder if it were not better just left alone where it looks perfect. **

**I didn't come up with the expression, 'god's mistake'. Placebo did.  
**

**I do know someone who used their sister's boobs as benchmark for surgery, but I'm not tellig who.  
**


	7. 7001

**Hey, old readers and new ones. Apparently, James Bond's secretary recc-d me on ADF. Wow, I'm officially famous now. Thank you, Moneypenny. And thank you for all your encouragement girls, I'm pretty insecure when it comes to writing this and this is the reason I'm asking you to review. To let me know if I'm on the right path, if it's worth doing at all.**

**This is a chapter more about Rose and the present. Rape is mentioned, but it is in no way advocated as a sexy thing or described in detail, unfortunately it's a part of life that happens to be involved in this story. If you are sensitive you might want to tread with caution, but honestly, it's barely touched on. SM owns, as ever, and I still make no money.**

**On we go.**

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I need some time to breathe. I know I've spent the whole flight in a med induced narcoleptic coma which to others might have looked like sleeping but I'm still so tired. I wish I could just lie down and sleep, really sleep, without pills, without anything. I towel myself dry, spend ions of time getting various shit in my hair to make it shiny and beautiful. I had several attempts to tone down my vanity and try to be a little less invested in my appearance when I went to Chicago, to university. People felt like they were dressing up when they were wearing jeans on campus. To me that was dressing down. I felt like such an alien, but maybe that's why I liked it. It doesn't matter, I just couldn't convince myself that even if I didn't try so hard I would've probably still be the hottest girl on campus.

I was never unreasonably vain, to be honest, it was never directed at other people; well not unless they thought they were more beautiful than me. That was always a bit of a challenge, an unspoken dare. My vanity is directed at myself, I know I'm beautiful and I never thought of it as a relative thing; being more beautiful than someone was not the way I thought of myself; my beauty it was always a fact, an evident thing. To be honest, most people envied me for that; I missed the typical insecurity that is so prevalent among girls at that age, but I was never absorbed in my looks to the point of becoming shallow or obsessive about it, but still; I _knew_. I knew I was beautiful, but I didn't treat this as a competitive advantage, or as means to overawe or intimidate other people. I just knew and I never apologized for it neither questioned it. The only people with that kind of security in their looks are the ones who are born looking good. If you weren't, you're probably insecure about the way you look to an extent. I know most women are.

I'm coming to that point, slowly but surely. And what is particularly scary about it, is that it's new for me. I've never felt insecurity about my looks. I'm not even sure this is what it is, or if other women feel it this way too. Whenever there was a comparison, I always won. But now it's slipping, and I don't know how to handle it. They say it's better to have and have lost than to not have at all. I know this is probably true, I wouldn't go back in time to make myself ugly, but in moments like these, when I cannot possibly imagine growing ugly and old and unattractive, to imagine men never taking a double take when they look at me… It makes me feel devastated. Losing that kind of awe and attention… those who never had it, those who always blended in cannot possibly understand. I guess that is why the more beautiful you are, the more distressing aging is. You just lose more.

I once said I'd never have plastic surgery done, but if I imagine myself like a grey, insignificant little mouse, with a once perfect body and face as only a memory… I'm not sure I can resist anymore. Why should I? Is it that different than creams and botox? Why is it okay to use those? I know risking death for beauty seems a shallow choice, but those people don't understand what loosing beauty is like. It's like being downgraded from first class citizen that everyone admires into an insignificant person, who's just like everyone else, not even worthy of a second glance. I decide that I will do something about this when I get home. I know some people just let it go because fighting with nature and your genes is a loosing battle, but I won't be one of those. I enjoy a challenge, and nature is a though opponent.

I blow-dry my hair into soft waves, I put on my creams. I get dressed. I decide on a straight line, simple, but excellently tailored beige dress with a boat neckline and mid-long sleeves. I put on a thin black belt to accentuate my narrow waist. I apply my make up and fix my hair. I put on my heels and get a black handbag out of my luggage. I'm kind of hungry but I don't really have time for room service right now and I cannot exactly eat carbs so the snacks are out of the question. I have enough problem making sure no cottage cheese appears on my thighs externally, using all these anti-cellulite shit, I don't need to complicate shit futher by eating shit that will end up making me look like a perggo hippo. I try to call Carlisle several times, but someone is always one the phone with him, so I decide that I'll go up and not wait for his approval down in my room like a good little girl. It's not like anything I see there would shock me.

I search around for the envelope and that key for the elevator. I find it, and put it in my handbag. I close the door and leave my room. I get in the elevator, turn the key and press the button. I inspect my make up in the mirror. I decide I look good enough. I get out and that disgusting stench of smoke is can already be felt. There are bottles strewn across the floor everywhere, broken glass and something that is disgusting and revolting that is starting to dry into the carpet already. I make my way toward the one door on the corridor that is open. Already there is a man in a suit and a badge with the hotel's logo standing there. I just go inside. I see Carlisle pacing around with his phone on his ear, already deep in conversation.

"I told you long sleeves, Alice. Long. Sleeves. Could you please tell me what the bloody fuck is so difficult to understand about this?" His British accent is strong and he's so hot I just want to fuck him right here. He's agitated and mad. He sees me and holds his finger up, signaling I have to wait for a moment. When I look at the sofa I see that Seth is sitting there already, with his head nodding down every few seconds like he's half asleep with his wayfarers on. I mean, I think he's Seth. Ever since Sam, their first drummer, OD-ed on their second tour, just the day before Christmas I have a hard time keeping track of drummers. They are in rotation, and none of them can stick it out. I'm not sure Carlisle has an incentive to make them stick it out. Nobody really cares about the drummer after all.

"No, Alice, that dress has one long sleeve. And no sleeve what so ever on the other." Alice tells him something. "Well of course, I need both sleeves long. Why the fuck would I ask you specifically for sleeves if I want just one sleeve?" I inspect my nails. I think a manicure is in order soon. I wonder if the ones you can get here are any good. To be honest the ones in hotels are usually pretty standard, not too shabby, at least painting them ruby red is within their capabilities. "It's important." Alice asks something again. "Why the fuck do you care? She had an accident. Get me that dress." Alice says something again. "I don't care how, I'll send her out in one of my shirts and sweatpants if you don't get me anything. I don't care how you get it here, it has to arrive." Pause. "There are a million shops here. Well, fuck, most of the stuff _is_ made here. If you can't take care of it I'll just send someone out to buy something instead." Carlisle sighs and rubs his eyes. "Okay. Just get it here by tomorrow, I don't care how. And I swear to god I'll dress her up myself if you don't send a dress with two, that is _two_, long sleeves." He ends the call and looks around, zeroing in on me. "I thought I'd told you to call me before you come."

"I'm not your fucking foot solider, Carlisle, I couldn't reach you, and you wanted me to be here. Now I am."

"Fair enough. Mr. Lok-man." He looks at the guy standing in the door and gestures to the armchair across the room. "Please take a seat. As you've seen we're in dire need of clean up. I was told by management that I'd have to discuss with you why you wouldn't let room service work on this floor. This is agitating my –" he looks at Seth "clients to no end. I'm sure we can find a solution."

"I'm afraid not, Sir," says the man without taking the seat. "To be perfectly honest, Sir, even if I wanted to send them up, no one would comply. You see, they seem to be under the impression that your _client_, Mr. Black raped two of them the last time." Carlisle's expression is unchanged, but his eyes dart to Seth with an ominous look.

"Oh, man! I cannot fucking believe this!" Seth snaps. "Carlisle, I can't keep doing this, for fucks sake, tell Jake to keep it in his pants or keep to the groupies, but I cannot live like this. And it's always the fucking room service. I don't care, I'm going on a different floor," says Seth, getting up.

"I'm afraid no more rooms are available," says Mr. Lok-man with an impassive face.

"I'm sure we can arrange something, Mr. Blackwater never had any problem of this nature with the staff." Carlisle is so suave and smooth, so persuasive as he's looking at him.

"No, I'm sorry, no more rooms. I'm afraid you'll have to stay on this floor." He bows his head a little and then leaves. Seth opens his mouth to say something but not before Carlisle speaks.

"Sorry, Seth. You can't change hotels, you'll have to settle for the rest of the week. Take it up with Jake; if we're lucky they won't try to sue, there are at least a dozen of girls across the globe we pay bribe money to so they keep their mouth shut."

"Carlisle, you said you'd take care of it,"

"I know I did, but I'm not a fucking magician, what do you want me to do?" Seth just gets out a cigarette, lights it up and mumbles something that even I don't understand, even though I'm sitting right next to him. "I'll try to find an all male cleaning crew or something. Jesus, that sounds gay. I'll tell Steve 22 to get on it." Seth just stands up and walks away, slamming the door so hard the vase on the table trembles. "So, Rose, how the hell are you?"

"I'm good. I wanted to ask you to push the screenshots back from Wednesday. I'll look like shit if I have to do it then."

"Rose, darling, you never look like shit." He has his sweet-talking voice on that he uses to manipulate all these idiots into doing what he wants.

"Don't even try to pull this shit on me, Carlisle. I want the screenshots moved."

"You know the screenshots are just a formality. You're as good as in, Rosalie."

"Well, I guess we can forgo them, can't we?"

"It is just a formality, but a necessary one. You'll have to do them."

"If I have to do them, move them."

"The program director said they'd have to be done then, they are doing yours late already because you wanted to do it in your new fancy weekend house, strawberry."

"I don't care, talk to him and move them." He just sighs and drops down in the armchair.

"Fine, I'll try. But I cannot guarantee you that they will be moved. I'll tell them that you'll pull out if you can't take them later. Is Friday okay?" I'm not sure it is. But I'll have a few days to recuperate by then.

"Okay, Friday's okay."

"Marvelous. Now that you've proved what an excellent negotiator you are, I need you to use your skills on Eddie. He's getting all antsy asking about Bella and shit. Just talk to him and placate him, will you? Don't worry, I've done most of the work, he's really out of it, you won't have a hard time. Room 7007." Before I could ask him, he has his Blackberry on his ears again, calling someone and arranging something.

I always suspected Carlisle was a doctor or had a doctor's license that no one knew about. How the hell could he score all that stuff and keep a rock band and everyone who hung out with them supplied? It boggles the mind.

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**Please let me know if I'm doing this right. Your reviews help me improve and they're the only thing I get back from this. Please honor me with one.**


	8. 7007

**First things first. Even though SM wouldn't write this, the characters are hers. Also, thanks to everyone for all the reviews and the encouragement, it means a lot that you think I'm doing this right. Please keep telling me what you think, reviews are a tremendous help in many ways. Okay, this will be a very revealing chapter, lots of questions answered. A bit romantic too, but you're still reading the same story, so don't expect too much fluff. You guys hated Carlisle... I understand why, but I love him as a character. Okay, enough rambling. If you don't like dark themes and easily offended, look for something else.**

**Updates will slow, I have exams, and as I said, this doesn't really pay at all, so I'll need to take them.**

**On we go.**

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I get up and exit Carlisle's room. I walk past him and walk down the corridor to 7007. I try to think of the last time I've seen Edward. I hear about him so much and from so many people and we interact so little when we actually meet that it is hard to keep track. There used to be a time I liked him, when he could hold a conversation and hold it well. I don't know if he can't or can't be bothered anymore. It's Carlisle doing most things for him nowadays. That involves everything imaginable; no matter if he'd committed a felony or just wants a bowl of red M&M's, Carlisle takes care of it. Honestly, it's a shame that such a capable man is using his skills taking care of these people like they are toddlers or something. Not that I like him but sometimes I can see why he would think this is bellow him. He's not a charity, of course, I don't think they would pay more for him anywhere so he takes it in stride most of the time.

I arrive in front of room 7007. Just by the proximity of room 7006 and 7008 I can tell that this probably is the biggest room on the floor. I just knock.

Nothing. I try again, louder.

Nothing. My hands already hurt a little, the door is kind of hard, but still I try again.

Nothing. Of course, I should've known. I walk back to Carlisle's room and he is still pacing with the phone in his hand around the round shaped table with a huge bouquet of red flowers on it.

"No, Aro, of course it's all fine all's going to go on as planned." Pause. "How should I know I'm not a fucking psychiatrist. And by the way, we might possibly be having a little problem with Jacob and his 'my penis 80 days around the world' act. But hopefully I can take care of it with management. They seemed to be amenable." He stops to fiddle with the flowers a bit, and looks up at me questioningly. I just shrug my shoulders.

"He wouldn't open it," I say. He just rolls his eyes, shakes his head and mouths "Of course not."

"Yeah, I know the consul and the mayor, and the head of the communist party too. Yes, of course, we'll all go out and have lots of fun and they'll be on their best behavior.

"No, of course not, no one gives a fuck about him." Aro says something.

"I guess I'll just order some entertainment and leave him with some coke and meth, Aro, he's never a problem anyhow. His biggest concern in the last two days was getting his room cleaned up." Carlisle laughs at something Aro says. "Well, he's not quite that self sufficient yet." Carlisle gets a cigarette and lights it up.

"Yes, I talked to the director, the sound engineer and the technicians, we'll leave those out. No problem." He inhales. "Don't worry, I don't think they'll even notice. Edward's the only one who would bitch about it and well… he won't, trust me." He takes another deep drag. "Yeah, I know that came out at the wrong time, but I guess Maria wanted to turn the odds in her favor to get custody. What a dumb bitch." He blows the smoke out on his nose and rubs his forehead and eyes. "Of course not, don't even worry about it, it seems to good stuff fucked up her memory; we've got footage of her fucking the bellhop in Bellagio in 2003. That was a bitch to take care of." Another inhale and then he holds up his finger at me signaling two minutes. "Yeah, he was a minor, and the mother wanted to sue or get him a record contract. That was a savvy one." Pause. "I'll keep in touch. Thanks, Aro." He looks up, rolling his eyes at the phone.

"If only Aro wasn't impotent; he would have other things to do than bust my balls for every insignificant detail." He sits down next to me and offers up a cigarette. I take it. "I have the key for his room somewhere, I'll find it for you." He holds up his lighter and I light up and look at him from under my lashes in doing so.

"Do you think Jasper getting custody is a good idea?" I ask.

"Darling, no one cares if it's a good idea, it's what Jasper wants. Do you think Maria getting custody is a better one? I don't even know what Jasper was thinking marrying a porn actress, let's just hope he won't do it again. Although he probably will." He puts the cigarette out on in an ashtray on the end table.

"Yeah, he always liked bizarre girls."

"Yeah, let's just hope he keeps to those. Rosie, just help me with this please. This shit is big, it's big money, a fucking huge market and if I blow this then… well, I'll probably be hanging from my balls as decoration in Aro's office or something to that effect. We need this." I just nod. I know this already. He explained it on the phone. "Plus you're getting your show too. The nice sister. Kind of like the other Boleyn girl, only you look hotter than Scarlett Johanson. People will know it's not only evil witches with shovels in your family. I already talked to the producer, you'll be the focus and you'll always look like the good one, okay?" He rubs my arm in what I assume he means to be a soothing gesture, but I know he doesn't really give a shit. The show will be publicity to the band too, even if in an indirect way.

"Okay."

"Fantastic. Rose, I'll go look for the card for Edward's room." He leaves and calls someone on his Blackberry. "Steve, I told you that…"

It's ironic that I would become the 'nice sister'. I try to think back to the exact moment Bella was declared as the evil witch. At first she was the clueless, but innocent jailbait, sucked into this world. I think some people worried about her even. She did go on tour with the band and called me at weird times, about meeting celebrities or about what it felt like to be on stage, even in backstage. She seemed to enjoy it. There was something not quite right about her voice, like she was holding back what she really wanted to say. I never really asked. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. She was sending me extravagant and useless presents from all over the world, clothes and shoes, even furniture. I wasn't sure why Jake gave her so much money, and I had no idea how he got her to accept; she had a hard time accepting a birthday present from me that was over 20 bucks. But I never questioned that either. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.

I got another call on September 13th, on her eighteenth birthday. She declared in an impassive voice that Jake had proposed on top of the Eiffel tower. Both ends of the line were quiet. I was going to have an exam on Islamic contract law the next day. I didn't particularly feel up to this conversation. Her breathing was even, then I heard her light up a cigarette and exhale it into the phone. She asked me what I thought she should say. I asked her what she said. "I told him yes, because of the moment, but I'm not sure I meant it. I can always take it back, you know?" No, I didn't know. But I told her I did, anyway. We just sat there, me waiting for her to ask what she really wanted to, and Bella, for me to read her mind. "Do you think it's… is it worth for me to… do you think I'll ever be… you know… like, good enough?" she finally asked.

"No." She already was too good. Maybe she needed this to see. I didn't know.

"Oh… Well…" I remember her voice trembling. She always felt like she was so fucking helpless but at that moment she felt hollow and fanatical at the same time. "I guess that changes things. Thanks, Rose." She just hung up without waiting for me to say goodbye. She hardly ever called after that.

All the tabloids were full of the Gore Mountain's bass player's marriage to her former jailbait girlfriend. Most of them were certain she was at least three months along. They were going to have some gothic themed wedding in a Scottish castle with artificial spider webs, a wedding reception with Lurch from Addams Family, blue wedding cakes and black swans on the lake. Somebody told me her wedding gown would be black, too. I wondered who came up with that idea. It all seemed very teenaged in any case. The invitation said we would all have to wear white; I guess only the happy couple was allowed mourning colors. Sadly, Charlie missed that little detail and the tiny Scottish airport didn't have many white suits, so we had spent half a day hunting around for them, Charlie grumbling about wanting to hit a pub instead of looking for a 'monkey suit'. That day I got a new insight about why Bella chose to go on tour with the band rather than the alternative. In the end, Carlisle had ordered it in from London, thankfully.

The only thing I remember about the castle that it was huge and cold. Wherever I went, whatever I did, I was always so fucking cold. I couldn't understand a fucking word of what the Scotts were saying. Carlisle had to translate. They decorated everything with blue roses and I hated it.

Bella was trying on her dress. It even had black wings attached to it. When I remarked on the color she told me it was dark amethyst. I told her I didn't think anyone would take away that impression. She said she didn't care and that she never really wanted to get married in the first place. It was a weird thing to say two days before your wedding day, but I would come to understand, eventually.

That night I went to the bar down in the village. Charlie was already there, shouting at the TV. It seemed nothing was new. I saw Edward at one of the tables, drinking heavily, trying to deflect the busty waitress' advances. I went there and kind of marked my territory. She just walked away. "Thanks, Rosalind. You know, I really liked you, always Rose." We talked a bit about old times and about what a shitty wedding it will be.

"Can you imagine them showing their grandkids the pictures of _this_ wedding?" I ask, sending down my third scotch, giggling.

"You think they'll have grandkids?" he asked. He sounded a bit more sober. But I wasn't sure.

"Yes, I mean, yeah, they'll supposedly be together now, always. Like, she's here to stay for good, you know? Hell, who knows, this is Bella, there's no shit she won't put up with. So, yeah, they'll probably have kids then grandkids. Even if they divorce." We didn't talk a lot after that. He said he had something important to take care of.

I guess it was that night that Bella, at eighteen, entered the Hall of Fame of rock and roll without ever having written a song or sang a line without taping it. All Jake found was a letter and her ring. Unfortunately, or fortunately for publicity, the media got wind of it. Bella made Yoko Ono, Paula Yates and all other legendary groupies look like petty amateurs. People said she was out to tear the band down and that her appetite for destruction was famous. Apparently, even in high school she was reckless and evil according to one of her classmates. She was public enemy number one, to guys because of the rift she caused in the band. The girls were just jealous she got to fuck both hot guys in the band, whatever they said about the music.

Carlisle liked the publicity but he was livid. No one knew where they were. No one saw them at the airport and no one knew which car they took, since Edward's rental was left. Jake destroyed his room after he found the letter and the ring and the next day he took off to Vegas. It was a bit fun. I felt like I was in a bad TV soap with more curse words.

Honestly, I didn't care, and the blue wedding cake was delicious.

Carlisle comes into the room again, interrupting my reverie.

"I'll go with you. I need to speak to him too." We walk toward his room. Carlisle opens the door and we enter. The stench of smoke, alcohol and sweat washes over me. We walk into his room and he's lying on the bed with two Asian chicks. The girls are awake and talking, but Edward is still asleep.

"Ladies, I think it is best if you left. I'll show you out." Carlisle always did have a way with groupies.

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**Okay, don't be mad at Eddie yet. We don't even know what he did with the girls. Also, this was a monumental chapter, so it would be nice to share what you thought.**

**What was the craziest wedding theme you ever heard of?**


	9. bed

**Hey! people who read this. I have not abandoned this story, but as I said before... I don't get any money for this, so I have to prioritize and put college and my exams first. They went well, so I guess it was worth it for me to concentrate on those instead. Sorry. **

**So we get to meet Edward now. I don't know what your reaction will be, he is not his usual self, so to speak. I think this sheds light on what could've happened a bit more and introduce the source of certain problems. SM owns, I have not created these characters on my own and I certainly don't make any money off this, so don't sue. Those of you who are interested I'm about to post my big, long time in the works story. If you want to help me with see you down at the bottom.**

**On we go.**

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I look at him, laying there with his pale face, defiantly erratic hair, violet shadows under his eyes. I try to muster up an ounce of sympathy or some kind of feeling for him other than apathy. I fail.

My eyes move away from his face. He's laying all spread out over the bed, with his limbs far away from each other. I notice strange patterns on the bed sheet but only on his right side. They are dark red, almost brown. How strange. But as I move my eyes away, I notice the wounds on his right hand. The gashes are still red, barely healed they seem to run deep and in a strange pattern; I can't even guess at their origin. I don't really care all that much to be honest.

I look around the room, taking it all in. The same gift basket I got is on the table, only it seems bare, robbed of all its precious and magical items. Bottles and cigarette butts everywhere, the side of the sofa torn down and burnt, a suitcase with a hole burnt inside it, stains on the carpet and the walls, the mirror taken down and left on the table next to the gift basket. Clothes and leftover foods and their wrappers strewn everywhere, pictures are hung upon the wall askew, a bra hanging from the lamp. A guitar with those same dark brown stains sits in a chair next to the window looking out over the city seems like the island of serenity in this chaotic and revolting disarray of unidentifiable items.

I sit and wait for Carlisle to come back and for us to expand a joint effort to placate Edward but as I sit there next to him on the bed for what seems like ten minutes at least, it appears he wants me to get started myself. Or he's got another important phone call from someone. I don't know.

I get bored of waiting so I shove his shoulder a little bit, but he just sighs and turns away a little. I try again, with more force now, but he still doesn't wake. I notice a bottle of water next to him on the bedside table, so I take that, unscrew it and pour it all over his head.

He sits up halfway, his eyes snap open and he mumbles something mainly incoherent, looking around alerted as if he was looking for someone. Then his eyes zero in on me but I can't detect the spark of recognition. We stare at each other for a while then he sighs and lies back on the bed, turning his eyes away from me.

"Tell Carlisle no interviews today. I'm tired." He closes his eyes and he's just about to go back to sleep when I slap his bicep.

"I'm not a journalist, Edward." He just sighs and mumbles something without opening his mouth, clearly not giving a shit. "I'm Rosalie."

He opens his eyes and turns towards me with vacant eyes. "Rosalie," he says. "Rosalie?" he repeats and his eyes narrow. "You're Rosalie. Rose-a-lie." He snickers.

"Bella's sister, asshole." He looks up at me, examining me from behind his narrowed eyelids.

"Where's she?"

"She didn't feel well. She'll be back soon." He closes his eyes and starts tugging at his hair, averting his gaze from me.

"You should tell me the truth. I have to know if she left. I have to know, Rose-a-lie," he says tugging on his hair still.

"She didn't leave. She's just… she'll be back as soon as she can."

"She erm… forgave me?"

"For what?"

"For those things I said. I didn't mean them." There is a pause and I think he might have gone back to sleep again when he speaks. "Not really. I'm not myself when I'm angry."

"I see you've taken a line from the handbook of abusive husbands. How inventive, Edward."

"Huh?" he mutters with furrowed brows. I just shrug as he props himself up on his elbow. "What's all this blood everywhere? It's like… a lot of blood… right?"

"Yes, it is a lot of blood. What happened, Edward?" I ask, like he's a fucking invalid.

"I'm not… I don't… Is it mine?"

"I think it is. Look at your hand, Edward."

"Oh." He inspects his hand, looking at it with a curious stare. "It hurts a little. That's a lot of blood. Do you think I need a doctor or like… something?" Honestly, I didn't know. I mean, he might, seeing as he'd need to play the guitar tomorrow and all.

"I'll ask Carlisle to send you someone."

"Where's Bella? Tell her I'm sorry, okay? I didn't really mean it. I'm not myself when I'm angry and she knows. You'll tell her, right?"

"Of course I will."

"When is she coming back?"

"Soon."

"But she is coming back right? She isn't like, gone, right? You have to tell me, Rosalie."

"She's coming back, don't worry." There is a silence that feels deep and speaks of our detachment more profoundly than words ever could.

"I'm not abusive."

"What?"

"That thing you said about me being abusive. It's not true. I'd never hurt Bella" he seems at a loss for words "intentionally. I'd never hit her."

"I know," I say and this time I mean it.

"She should hate me though." I'm tempted to answer with affirmative; I know I shouldn't but for some reason I didn't want to lie.

"She could never do that."

"I know." He sits up and moves to the edge of the bed, getting a cigarette and lighting it up. He smokes it all while we sit in speechlessness. I don't know what to say and I wish I had Carlisle here with me. He always knew how to treat Edward when he gets like this.

"Will you tell me where she is?" he asks finally.

"I think she wants some time alone now."

"That's not what I asked." I sigh. I hate it when he gets like this, demanding, like I owe him anything at all. I really don't.

"I don't think you should know. You'd try to go there and there are other things you should focus on now. You'll be meeting the heads of state or what the fuck ever for dinner tomorrow night before the gig. Look at yourself. I think you should prioritize; you need to get yourself together."

"I know. I'm just worried about her. How's Reneesme?" Ah, Reneesme. I think Edward is the only person in the world who's a big enough star to get away with naming his child _Reneesme_. Although something tells me this name is Bella's lack of high school diploma shining through, most likely. Sounds like a muscle cream for rheumatism. Poor kid, to start her life with that astronomical handicap…

"I don't know. You left her in Malibu with the nanny, Edward, why don't you ask her?"

"Okay, I will. But, erm… you still haven't told me where she is, right?"

"No, and I won't. She'll come back don't worry." He just sighs and walks over to his guitar, trying to play it but his hands twitch because of the pain, I guess. He just sits in his chair, looking out the window.

"This is the last tour," he says impassively without moving a muscle. I only know he said it because there's no one else here in the room who could've.

"No, it isn't," says Carlisle, strolling back into the room with his cell in hand. "Edward, what the hell happened here? Did someone perform a voodoo ritual in your bed?" He just shakes his head muttering something along the lines "sick bastard", but I can't be sure.

"I think I he needs a doctor for his hand, Carlisle."

"What the bloody hell did you do this time, Edward? I told you to be careful." He walks over to him and inspects his hand. "Fucking fantastic. I cannot believe this. You won't get out of the gig tomorrow, we'll just have to play-back the guitar parts. I can't leave you alone for one minute now, can I? I'll tell Steve to move her office here temporarily. We can't leave you to make a mess of yourself this time, you fucking imbecile." He mumbles the last lines, but if I heard it, I'm sure Edward did too.

"How did you do it?" Carlisle finally asks. Edward looks at him questioningly. "What I mean is; did anyone help you with that?"

"Erm… no?"

"Jesus Christ." Carlisle sighs and gets his cell out, calling Steve, no doubt, walking out of the room.

"Can you pass me the cigarettes?"

"I'm not your room maid, Edward. Why don't you just roll there in your wheelchair, since it seems you're incapable of walking there yourself." He doesn't move.

"I don't have a wheelchair." I don't even try to explain it to him my being sarcastic. "Just tell her I'm sorry when you see her… and that if she wants to leave-" he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, a gesture that looks familiar on him but feels foreign; he seems foreign. "-that it's okay. I understand."

"Okay."

I still remember the first night Bella said she'd leave. But it wasn't the way he thought she would.

It was the night of Edward's birthday party and also the housewarming party to their new Malibu beach house. Bella found Edward in his dressing room after the gig the night before with three groupies or whatever. She always took it in stride with Jake, I heard she joined in sometimes even but she lost her shit when it was Edward. He was so smacked out of his mind, the next day he didn't even remember what happened, he didn't understand why she was locked in their room and wouldn't come out. I don't think he intended to cheat and I'm not sure he did, either. But the doubt is just as bad, if not worse, than the knowledge that he did.

The housewarming party hasn't been called off, in fact it was in full swing when I arrived. I was looking for her because her room was unlocked, empty and she was nowhere to be found. Carlisle said that Bella told him she would leave for good. He said he had a little talk with her and that he believed he had made her see things the way they were. He seemed happy about that, but was undoubtedly worried about a divorce.

Edward and Bella had no prenup and he signed his second deal with the record company after there were found holed up in an Amsterdam youth hostel following their shotgun wedding.

Eventually we found Bella in the pool, floating there like the modern rock-opera version of Ophelia in her white dress. She swallowed a handful of pills, most of them sedatives and sleeping pills and went to swim. I don't think it was an accident on her part as she later insisted. But I couldn't know for sure.

We called an ambulance; most of the memories are hazy and absent but I still remember that pure, unadulterated look of hatred on her face when she came to after getting her stomach pumped, looking at Edward who was crouching next to her, never letting go of her.

"I hate you," was all she said over and over again, with her dark eyes flashing at him from her pale, wet skin while he answered each with his own frantic "I love you"-s. Still, she never let go of his hand.

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**Okay, please review if you enjoyed it. Or if you didn't. Or if you just want to show me you're still reading this and you want me to continue. Thanks. If you're not interested in my new story, look away now.**

**  
So, I have my new story ready for posting, I just wanted to get a few suggestions on the summary. Please tell me if you like it or if you think it's shite and BS or any other fecal matter. Oh, and if it intrigues you. Thanks.**

"Welcome to St. Forks were greed is good, sex is easy and love is a game. I don't stalk, I'm keeping score" A snarky blog and its contents are shaking up the elite St. Forks and exposing dirty things under the surface. It just seems too nasty to be true.

**So?**


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